I’m an ex ex-expert, the next rejected red-carpet fixture critical of your security sector, I’m the correct texture, I’m a flexed-neck censor, I’m an introspective voyeur whose complexities leave one vexed with inflammatory conjectures. Won’t you be my employer, my saviour, my chosen flagellator? Surprisingly I was high when I wrote this, it’s hopeless, the devil’s lettuce stole my focus from what most of us deem appropriate to the point where I basically loathe this, I care not for this hyperbolic neurosis, it’s infectious, precocious, pious and pointless. There are many silos so toast us! Tonight we all feast on the locusts sent forth to destroy our old-growth forests for us, don’t ignore us, don’t be nervous, join us, sing our chorus and dance the dance of the impervious abhorrist.